


Raw

by demonkatgurl17



Series: Jagged [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU (for Jennifer), Angst, F/M, Feels, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Season 3, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonkatgurl17/pseuds/demonkatgurl17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes up in Derek's loft after being drugged the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw

**Author's Note:**

> With regards to the Darach revealing in episode 9, I haven't yet decided on whether the Jennifer in this story arc will reflect the canon's (I'll probably decide after watching episode 10 because I'm hoping for more of a reveal of her back story). That being said, for now she's just a sweet smitten English teacher.

“...was just.... way....school....”

Stiles ground the side of his face against something soft and lumpy, its vaguely familiar scent luring him back into the welcoming arms of oblivion.

“...left my jacket last night.....to see how things went...”

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his mind fighting his body as the sound of people talking nearby gradually dragged him back to consciousness.

“…so far nothing’s changed,” a male voice muttered. “He’s been out since I brought him here.”

There was something about that voice that was incredibly familiar, something that made his hands sweat and his heart quicken, though Stiles couldn’t quite recall what it was. Stiles forced himself to pull away from the temptation to fall back to sleep and he blinked blearily at the wall, taking in his surroundings in lazy glances, his body feeling too sluggish and fuzzy for more movement just yet.

The first thing that really registered in his mind was that he was not at home.

The thought occurred to Stiles as he stared at the wall in front of him, his gaze drawn to a particularly black-looking brick beneath the line of windows in front of him.

For starters, the walls of Stiles’s room didn’t _have_ bricks, just flat grey paint. And there definitely weren’t that many windows in one spot. There was only one place that he knew had bricks showing or more windows than were absolutely necessary and that was Derek’s loft , which wasn’t possible— _couldn’t_ be possible—because that would mean that Stiles was _in_ Derek’s loft, something Stiles had been trying his damnedest to avoid.

“I guess he won’t be in class today, then. School begins in half an hour.”

That was a female’s voice.

Stiles blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the last of the cobwebs as a quiet male voice (which he could now identify as Derek’s) answered the woman.

“No, not today. I doubt Scott will be there either. His mom made it through surgery just fine, but she’ll probably be in the hospital for a while. I’ll call you if anything changes, okay?”

Stiles frowned, confused. He heard that wrong, right? About Scott’s mom? If something had happened, Scott would have texted him last night—

That was when Stiles realized that he couldn’t really remember what had happened last night, not past arriving at The Jungle with Danny and, sometime after, having a rum and coke pushed into his hand by a guy built along the same lines as Derek.

_Okay_ , Stiles thought to himself. _Everything’s fine. You just have no idea what happened in the past several hours. Or how you got to Derek’s place. Nothing to worry about..._

Right. Focus on what you know.

So, things Stiles knew: 1) he was in Derek’s loft; 2) he was on a bed and, though Stiles had never gotten to see the upper room of the loft, he was pretty sure he was in the main room on _Derek’s_ bed and _that_ thought nearly overloaded his mind; 3) Derek was here too, apparently; 4) Derek was talking to a woman—

A woman. Talking to Derek.

S _hit_.

And a woman in Derek’s loft talking about school definitely meant _Jennifer_ and oh god they were _both_ here and so was _Stiles_ and if his _whole_ _body_ didn’t feel like it was made of lead, Stiles would have booked it for the elevator before you could say ‘awkward’ because being in the same space with the couple was only just above ‘having to tell his dad about werewolves’ on his list of “Things I’d Hate to Wake Up To”.

Silence filled the room, why was everyone silent? They were talking only a minute ago. What the hell was he missing?

With what felt like a great effort, Stiles turned his head so that he could see the rest of the room instead of just the bland wall of brick and glass and he froze.

About halfway to the elevator stood Derek and Jennifer. Well, first he thought could only see Derek in the room, but then his mind caught up with what his eyes were telling him, which was that Derek was pressed tight against Jennifer, close enough that their forms could almost be mistaken as that of one person, and he was kissing her like she was made of fucking _glass_.

Something twisted in Stiles’s gut and he swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

But he couldn’t force himself to look away from the scene in front of him, couldn’t stop watching Derek kiss Jennifer the way Stiles had imagined that Derek would kiss _him_ , slow and tender and _cherishing_.

Tears welled up in his eyes. Stiles bit his lip and dug his fingernails into his palm, using the pain to force back the tears that Stiles refused to shed. He wouldn’t cry now, not where Derek could see.

It was enough that Stiles had broken down in his bedroom a few days ago, sobbing until all he could focus on was his breathing.

It was enough that after _hours_ of watching Allison’s building while sitting in Jennifer’s car, of breathing in her flowery air freshener and going through her CDs (some that even Stiles had and had vowed never to play again just because _she_ liked them too), that Stiles had forced the obnoxious keyset into Scott’s hand and walked away, barely getting more than a block from Allison’s building before the tears had flowed again.

It was enough that he had endured _days_ of pain and frustration from realizing that he was just the pack’s bitch, only good for whatever menial tasks Derek (or even Scott) tossed at him.

It was enough that, since he couldn’t walk away from all of it (he was too emotionally invested for that), Stiles had shelved his pride and downright _begged_ Danny to get him into The Jungle, hoping that if he just found someone else—even if it was for something as meaningless as sex—that maybe he could get over whatever it was that he felt for Derek, move on and leave behind the almost crippling knowledge that he wasn’t what the Alpha wanted.

If Stiles broke down here, right in front of Derek, he was pretty sure the shame alone would kill him.

Taking deep even breaths, Stiles was gradually able to push his warring emotions to the back of his mind, where he smothered them with thoughts about the Alpha Pack.

Nothing like a little impending death and destruction to get your mind off your personal problems.

After what felt like years, the kiss finally ended and Stiles quickly closed his eyes in case either of them happened to look over and notice that they had an audience. He was forced to rely on his hearing (never before had Stiles been so envious of heightened wolf senses) as footsteps trailed away, leaving silence in their wake.

And probably Derek.

Crap.

Stiles’s heart rate shot up a few notches more, faster than a sleeping person’s would, and so he made a production of squirming a bit on the bed, making small muffled sounds as though he was on the verge of consciousness. The sound of footsteps heralded someone’s approach and Stiles wiggled further into the mattress, fluttering his eyes open for a brief second to confirm that, yes, Derek _had_ moved closer to the bed.

Tension coiled low in Stiles’s belly, shocking him. Oh god, he was a few enthusiasm points away from actually _writhing_ in Derek Hale’s bed and, for some reason, the thought of rubbing his scent into the freaking _sheets_ was turning him on.

Desperate to avoid popping an awkward-boner, Stiles yawned (a fake one that quickly turned into a real yawn) and stretched his limbs, hoping that his ‘waking up’ theatrics fooled Derek’s werewolf senses into thinking that Stiles was stirring _now_ and not _before_ the Alpha had made out with his English teacher. Stiles opened his eyes, blinking them idly to ‘wake himself up’, and locked onto Derek’s distracted expression a moment later, which was curiously angled away from his face, down around his legs.

_Weird_ , Stiles thought as Derek seemed to shake himself from his thoughts, bringing his attention to Stiles’s face with a trace of a frown.

_Jennifer gets a kiss and I get a frowny-face,_ Stiles mentally sulked.

“Um…what are you —,” Stiles glanced around, hitching a confused look on his face, pretending to realize that he wasn’t at home, “what am _I_ doing here?” he corrected, his curiosity real.

Derek’s face scrunched up in a mixture of irritation and discomfort. “You weren’t answering Scott’s messages so he sent me to find you last night. When I _did_ find you, you were three sheets to the wind and grinding against the jerk that spiked your drink.”

“ _Spiked_ —? He slipped something into my drink?” Stiles squeaked, equally mortified that Derek had found him in such a compromising position and stunned that someone had _actually_ put something besides rum into his coke.

It wasn’t like he’d never heard of guys getting slipped some kind of date rape drug, but honestly Stiles had never really thought about it happening to him, that it was more of a _girl’s_ thing to worry about. A guy drugging another guy to have their way with them just sounded weird.

And if the dude that had drugged him was the same guy who had given him the drink, then it was a good possibility that Stiles would have agreed to sex if they guy had just _asked._ But knowing that his choice in the matter had been taken away before the guy had even asked his name just put a whole damper on what Stiles could remember of last night.

He felt sort of dirty, like he needed a shower to wash off any residue the guy may have left on his skin.

There was a stern look on Derek’s face. “Were you there when the bartender poured the drink?”

Ah.

“No, he already had it in his hand when he walked up,” Stiles said, realizing that he had screwed up from the start. That was like a rule or something, to always keep an eye on your drink. He was kind of happy that he couldn’t remember much after meeting the guy. He really didn’t need the additional embarrassment.

“And you took it anyway?” Derek asked, his whole body screaming his disapproval despite his neutral tone.

“It was _alcohol_ , dude,” Stiles groaned, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, he was ready for this interrogation to be over. “It’s not like I would have gotten drunk any other way. It’s kind of illegal to serve to minors.” And the guy was _hot_.

Stiles kept that last thought to himself. Factoring in the guy’s hotness would probably only make things exponentially worse.

Derek huffed in annoyance, but thankfully didn’t start lecturing him on underage drinking (Stiles had already had it from his dad and if having the _Sheriff_ bark at you for an hour about it doesn’t stop you, then nothing will). “Did you get his name?”

Ah.

“Uh, if I did, I don’t remember it. Though, I wasn’t really there to make new friends,” Stiles muttered sullenly.

He pressed his eyes until the black went grey and fuzzy before dropping his arms back to the mattress, clutching at the pillow cradling his head.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that, to make himself sound like such a slut when no one had even touched him yet (that he could remember, at least).

It was just…

He was tired of feeling like _nothing_. And when he’d tried to feel better about himself, his prospective partner had turned out to be a complete tool (granted, Stiles might have had a clue about that when he’d seen the shaved/spiked hair, ripped muscles, and the thick layer of confidence rolling off the guy, but Stiles had the right to have a shallow moment).

Having to be saved from someone’s evil clutches was doing little to help his self-esteem issues, and the fact that his savior had been Derek (again) just made things worse.

Stiles could feel the makings of another bad mood coming on and he changed the subject before something embarrassing could come out of his mouth, like: I wouldn’t have needed to go to the stupid club in the _first_ place if you bothered to notice anything past your stupid, gorgeous, constipated _face_.

“Did you say that Scott sent you to get me? Why didn’t Scott come himself?”  Stiles asked, trying and sort of failing at keeping his irritation out of his question. _Gee thanks, Scott. Glad I could count on you have my back and all,_ he thought to himself, all the while ignoring the spiteful little voice in the back of his mind pointing out that Scott sending Derek to yank his drugged ass out of danger’s way _was_ having his back.

Ruffling a hand briefly through his hair, Derek sighed, taking his time to answer the question. He looked tired and—worried? 

What had happened last night?

“Scott’s mom was in an accident last night,” Derek said softly, almost gently. “A deer ran out in front of her on her way to work and she drove her car into a tree trying to avoid it. She was in surgery for internal bleeding, but Scott said she made it through just fine. She’s in the hospital resting. Scott’s there with her and has been most of the night. That’s why he sent me to find you when you weren’t answering. He— _we_ ,” Derek corrected, “thought that maybe the Alpha Pack was striking out at the humans close to us.”

A chill ran through Stiles, his breath catching in his chest.

Feeling queasy, he sat up, folding his legs under him and hunching in on himself. It was easy for Stiles to imagine Scott’s worry, how Scott must have wondered whether Stiles was okay or being tortured by the Alpha Pack or dead. The same paranoia would have held true in reverse if Scott had been the one not answering or if Stiles’s _dad_ had been hurt by any of the supernatural crap around him.

Going out last night had been dumb, Stiles realized that now. He had been vulnerable, more so than usual. God, if anyone other than Derek had found him—

“She’s okay?” Stiles asked in a small voice, verifying.

Taking a seat in the chair next to the bed, Derek crossed his arms over his chest and nodded wearily.

“She’ll be there for a few days, at least, but she’s fine. I think the worst of it is that the deer running across the road _was_ random. I had Isaac and Cora search the area for signs of the Alpha Pack. They even tracked down the deer. Nothing. Not one scent of the Alphas or even their emissary was anywhere near the scene. I don’t know whether to be glad or disappointed that the accident was just an accident.”

Stiles smiled half-heartedly, still kicking himself for not being there for Scott when his buddy had needed support.

Groaning faintly, Derek leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, letting his head hang down limply towards the floor. He really did look tired, but it seemed to be from more than just the news of Ms. McCall’s accident. It was like Derek hadn’t slept in a while.

Frowning slightly, Stiles dug his phone out of his pocket (how the hell it had survived being in his pocket all night was anyone’s guess) and checked the time. It was a little after 7. School would be starting soon, though Stiles had no intention of going today. His phone showed that he had nine texts, four missed calls, and two voice messages, but Stiles shoved the device back into his pocket, not in the mood to look at them.

Stiles stared at Derek’s slouched form and became lost in thought.

If he and Danny had arrived at the club around midnight, then Stiles must have passed out less than an hour after they’d gotten there (for at least half an hour, Stiles hadn’t any luck until a tall, dark haired, body-building type had walked up to him with a drink and a smile), which meant that he had been passed out for maybe five or six hours.

Stiles ran his gaze over Derek’s shoulders, bare but for the straps of his tank passing over them, showing off the strong muscles running just beneath Derek’s skin. It wasn’t often that he got a chance to ogle Derek (and it was even rarer that there was no one around to call him on it), so he allowed himself to look his fill, part of him depressed that it took being drugged by a stranger and saved like a Disney princess to get the opportunity.

A thought struck Stiles as he stared at Derek, the Alpha’s exhaustion making more sense.

“Um,” Stiles piped up, waiting for a sign that Derek was paying attention to him. He only got a “ _hmm?_ ” in return (Derek hadn’t even twitched from his bent over position). “Do you always have a chair next to your bed?”

_That_ seemed to earn some attention.

Derek popped his head up enough so that he could look at Stiles. “No. Just last night,” he said evenly, his expression guarded.

“You brought me here after you found me at the club and you…watched over me?” Stiles asked, confirming his suspicions as he kept his eyes trained on Derek’s. Well, until Derek looked away, as though he were uncomfortable with the change in subject.

“It wasn’t safe to leave you alone. You were drunk and you’d been drugged. With your luck, you’d have drowned in your own vomit. Or spit,” Derek said, frowning down at something near Stiles.

Stiles glanced beside him, seeing only the pillow he’d used. Puzzled, he cocked an eyebrow at the Alpha, who only shook his head in response. Shrugging, Stiles let go of the issue Derek seemed to have with the pillow. “Y’know, most people are taken to the hospital when they’re drugged.”

“Yeah well, most people aren’t in danger of being killed by a pack of Alphas,” Derek shot back, glaring at Stiles with annoyance. He sat up and crossed his arms again.

_Defensive, much?_ Stiles thought.

“It’s fine,” Stiles said with a shrug. “You would probably know if something was wrong, like, way before a human would so…it’s cool. So, uh, did you…did you watch me, like, _all_ night?” he stammered, uncomfortable. Regardless of Derek’s answer, Stiles knew his obsession with the Alpha was going to color it, twist it in a way that would only fan the flames of his obsession higher, resulting in a slow agonizing burn.

And on some level, Stiles didn’t care because, at times, the burn was all he had, and any pain at all was better than none, right?

At least, that was what Stiles told himself.

Derek was back to not really meeting his eyes. If Stiles had to put a label on the Alpha’s body language, he would have to say the other man looked guilty for some reason. Not that Derek was exuding more than his usual unhealthy amount of angst, but this was different, this was directed at _Stiles_ and he had never experienced Derek directing more than anger and irritation at him.

It kind of freaked him out.

“You were in danger,” Derek said with a roll of his shoulders, staring unhappily at the wad of blankets at the end of the bed, as if they had offended him or something. “There was no one else available that I trusted to do it so _I_ did it. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Well, uh, thanks for being my last resort,” Stiles awkwardly replied. While he was thrilled that Derek thought his protection was worth the pack’s time, Stiles found it rather curious that everyone else had been busy, forcing their Alpha to lose sleep over a stupid teenager.

A strange, caught-in-the-headlights look flitted onto Derek’s expression as his gaze jerked up to Stiles’s face. “That’s not what I meant. You’re—,” Derek hesitated, looking wary. “Look, whether I like it or not, you’re in this as well, and you’ve helped me and mine out without asking for anything in return. _This_ is my return. You deserve to be protected, too.”

Gobsmacked, Stiles’s jaw hung open as he stared wide-eyed at Derek, vaguely wondering what kind of look the Alpha would give him if he pinched himself right now because Derek made it sound like Stiles was _more_ than just a pack bitch, more than just a human tag-a-long, just…. _more_ that Stiles thought he was to Derek.

Damned as he was, Stiles felt bolstered by the confession, hopeful, even. He’d suffer for it later, he was sure, but for now all Stiles cared about was that he _mattered_ to Derek in some way—and that knowledge was worth its weight in _gold_.

“Thanks,” Stiles said softly. Tentatively, he offered Derek a small smile, his stomach squirming happily when the ever-present tension seemed to drain out of the Alpha’s body.

Stiles’s bladder, though, decided it had been ignored long enough and sitting cross-legged on the bed was getting uncomfortable, fast.

“Hey, uh, do you mind if I use your bathroom for a second? That rum and coke I had last night wants out of my system, like ASAP,” he said, already scooting towards the edge of the bed.

Derek jumped up out of the chair as though something had bit him. “Do you need help?” he asked, hovering anxiously over Stiles.

Stiles paused, his legs dangled over the edge of the mattress. He looked up at the Alpha with a playful smirk, unable to resist teasing the man. “What? Are you offering to help me aim?”

Stunned speechless, Derek’s mouth opened and shut several times, making him look like a fish out of water.

Stiles waited for Derek to make some sort of comeback, enjoying the confused/surprised grimace contorting the Alpha’s face (and was that a _blush_ blossoming across his cheeks?). But then Stiles’s full bladder throbbed, reminding him _why_ he needed to go to the bathroom in the first place.

He decided to have pity on Derek. “I’m _kidding_ , dude. Jeez…” Stiles muttered as he stood. He swayed slightly on his feet, regaining his balance after a moment.

Derek’s hand on his elbow may have also helped.

When Derek matched him step for step to the bathroom, the Alpha’s hand still loosely gripping his elbow, Stiles cocked an amused eyebrow at him, ignoring the flutters going off in his stomach at the gesture.

“Well,” Stiles said as they approached the wooden door leading to the bathroom, “unless you plan on helping me shake, I think I’ve got it from here.”

Releasing Stiles’s elbow, Derek stepped back and crossed his arms, leveling Stiles a bland, “hop to it before I throw you in there” look.

Complying with Derek’s less than subtle impatience, Stiles quickly ensconced himself in the tiny bathroom, rolling his eyes at the wall of silence that Derek had morphed into at the innuendos. If Stiles didn’t know for a fact that Derek was getting laid, then he would have thought the man was a giant prude.

Then again, Derek probably _was_ a prude where Stiles was concerned.

_No Stilinskis allowed!_ Stiles thought to himself comically in Derek’s voice as he emptied his protesting bladder, the phrase accompanied by a ridiculous image of a cartoon-Derek nailing a sign to his headboard that had Stiles’s face overlaid with a large red ‘X’.

Snorting as he shook out a last trickle of piss, Stiles found himself amazed by what his mind churned out.

After flushing and washing his hands, Stiles strode out of the bathroom—and nearly ran straight into Derek’s chest. “What the—? _Seriously?_ I can’t even _pee_ by myself?” Stiles asked incredulously when he realized that Derek had stayed right where he was, had probably even _listened_ as Stiles relieved himself.

_What—? No!_ Stiles mentally berated his penis as it twitched with interest. _I am_ not _getting turned on by Derek listening to me pee. Watersports are off limits._

The arousal was probably due to thinking about Derek being so close by when Stiles had had his dick in his hand, but it was hard to tell and he wasn’t going to chance it. Thinking up boner-killing images like Coach and Greenburg doing the nasty, Stiles’s dick thankfully stopped twitching with interest. The last thing Stiles needed right now was a big misunderstanding.

Derek scowled at him. “I was making sure you didn’t collapse and brain yourself on the toilet.”

“Dude, I’m _fine_. Look, see?” Stiles said and spun in place, coming to a wobbly stop that didn’t _quite_ get across the point he was trying to make, but at least he hadn’t fallen on his ass. It seemed to be enough if Derek’s pursed lips were anything to go by.

They stared at each other silently, the seconds stretching out as the conversation looked to have dried up between them.

Stiles vacillated between wanting to stay or go.

On the one hand, being able to talk to Derek without seeing Jennifer on the Alpha’s arm was great, just like old times. But on the other hand, his best friend’s mom had just been in an accident and he was pretty sure Scott could still use some support (it wasn’t like Stiles had anything else planned for today since he was ditching class).

 Stiles warred with himself as he stared down the annoyed Alpha, his shoulders slumping in defeat as once again his duties as a friend won out against his personal desires.

“I guess I should get going. See how Scott and his mom are doing,” Stiles said.

That feeling that you get when a puppy wants to play but you have to leave?—for some reason, Stiles was having it now (which was odd, because Derek’s expression more similar to that of an angry badger than a puppy).

Guilt, that’s what Stiles was feeling, what was making him want to linger, only he couldn’t think of anything more to say, couldn’t think of a reason to stay here and keep talking and torture himself by being near Derek, who Stiles both knew and didn’t know because some teacher had come along and charmed the Alpha with her pretty face and sweet smile. He was having trouble reconciling the Derek he knew with the Derek that Jennifer seemed to know, the one that Stiles didn’t know at all.

And yet, Stiles _swore_ he caught a glimpse of that Derek this morning, a Derek who was kind and protective and thoughtful, so unlike the brash, vengeful Alpha he was used to. _That_ Derek had given him butterflies in addition to his usual smoldering wet dreams filled with submission and pleasure bordering pain.

But that Derek wasn’t his—neither side really belonged to Stiles—and he needed to remember that.

Steeling his resolve, Stiles decided to leave before his obsession with the Alpha could do more damage than it _clearly_ already had.

_Fuck_ , it was going to be _twice_ as hard to look at Jennifer now, knowing that she was somehow special enough to get to see this other side of Derek, a side he seemed to hide from everyone else.

_From Stiles_.

Without waiting for Derek to say anything, Stiles set off towards the elevator before the cold concrete floor made him realize that he wasn’t wearing shoes.

Confused, Stiles slowed to a halt and looked down at his bare feet.

Yep, no shoes.

Or socks, for that matter.

He whirled around to face Derek, who was staring after him looking flummoxed, like he didn’t know what he was seeing.

“Hey, uh....where are my socks and shoes?” Stiles asked, hoping that he hadn’t done something stupid with them while he was drunk (he’d done stranger things that he actually _could_ remember so the idea wasn’t completely farfetched).

Coming out of whatever thoughts he’d been lost in, Derek gestured back towards the bed with a jerk of his head.

_Of course they are_ , Stiles thought tiredly to himself as he padded back towards Derek’s bed.

Derek’s bed. Ha. Now he could say he’d been in Derek’s bed (just not for anything interesting).

“Did I kick them off?” Stiles asked as he peered around the bed and finding his socks and shoes on the floor near the end of it.

The laces on his shoes were undone.

Stiles frowned.  He never bothered with untying his laces when he was drunk, better to just kick off the whole damn shoe and wait to undo the knots in the morning when he was sober. He hadn’t done this. Puzzled, he looked up at Derek, who had trailed after him, silent as a shadow.

“I took them off for you,” Derek said softly, sounding almost shy. At Stiles’s wondering look, he shrugged. “No one likes to sleep in shoes.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, chuckling softly. Derek was right. It did suck to sleep in shoes.

He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and shoes, smiling at having glimpsed the ‘other’ Derek again.

He _really_ needed to leave.

A thought slammed into Stiles and he collapsed back onto the bed with a groan. “ _Craaaap!_ I got a ride to the club with Danny,” Stiles whined, annoyed that his moment of weakness last night kept coming back to bite him in the ass: first with the drugging, then with the saving, and now with no transportation.

He had only wanted to step outside himself for a few hours, pretend that he wasn’t just some dumb kid stumbling through supernatural drama with a crush on an unattainable guy. A guy who Stiles was now going to have to ask for a ride home.

A jingling of flying metal came from Derek’s direction, the object landing on Stiles’s belly.

Startled, Stiles turned his attention away from the wooden rafters to look down at what Derek had thrown at him.

It was a set of keys—they were _Stiles’s_ keys.

“What—?”

“I asked Peter to bring over your Jeep a few hours ago,” Derek said, his hands nonchalantly buried in his pants pockets. “I figured that since Scott was your cover story then that’s where you’d have parked it—and it was. I fished your keys out of your pocket and Peter used them to bring your Jeep here.”

“Peter? Why Peter?” Stiles asked. While he was grateful to have transportation readily available, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt knowing that the zombie wolf had been in his Jeep again (considering how stellar Peter’s _last_ reason was for being in it).

“Because I know Peter can _drive_ ,” Derek said slowly, like Stiles was mentally impaired. “Isaac doesn’t know how yet and I have no idea about Cora. _And_ he was available.”

Stiles sat up and fiddled with his keys.

No more reason to stall, now.

He stood up from the bed with a heavy sigh and looked at Derek. “Okay, well…I guess tell him thanks for dropping it off. And thank you,” Stiles said, making sure to direct his gratitude at Derek, “y’know, for picking me up and keeping an eye on me. It means a lot.” He started off for the elevator again, but this time he was stopped when Derek moved closer and gripped Stiles by his upper arm.

“Come to the next pack meeting,” Derek said. He was standing close, closer than Stiles was used to him doing without circumstances forcing them into each other’s space.

Stiles found himself distracted by Derek’s eyes—so fucking _gorgeous_ and earnest—and the light, almost woodsy musk around the man. “What?” he asked stupidly. He licked his lips, nervously wetting the dry, cracking flesh as he tried to focus on what Derek was saying.

Derek hesitated, his eyes flicking down from Stiles’s eyes to stare at his lips.

That was weird, why would Derek look at his lips?

Shaking his head minutely, Derek’s eyes became imploring. “You don’t come around anymore when we’re making plans. Don’t— You should start coming to them again. We could use your input, and not just by you going through Scott. I might not like having to drag everyone into this, but… we need to work together if we want to end this. We need you.”

_I need you_.

That’s what Stiles heard, anyways, and then it was his turn to do a fish out of water impression, his mouth moving soundless as he swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat again.

_I need you_.

Weeks and weeks of feeling useless and unwanted flashed through his mind, his heart tearing over the inconsistency of Derek’s words and what Stiles had felt for so long. Endless pain and frustration and _now_ he was needed? _Now_ he was useful?

Tears threatened to fall again and Stiles let his gaze drop to the ground, unable to keep staring into Derek’s pleading eyes.

“Stiles?”

A sheen of nervous sweat started to break out over Stiles’s skin, his breath quickening. Desperately, Stiles clutched at his keyset, trying to ground himself as the beginnings of a panic attack crept in on him.

He needed to go.

“Stiles?”

Derek was too close, completely filling his senses, and Stiles clutched his keys harder, feeling the bite of the metal pull him back, drive away the cloud of emotion that threatened to suffocate him.

“I need to—” Stiles started faintly

He needed to _go_.

His heart felt like it was going a mile minute, beating a frantic rhythm in his chest, and oh god, Derek could hear it, could hear and see and _smell_ Stiles breaking down bit by bit and Stiles couldn’t be here when that happened, he needed to go, he needed to get out —

_“Stiles!”_ Derek said loudly, practically shouting in his ear.

Wrenching his arm free, Stiles took off for the elevator at a run, throwing “I’ll be there!” over his shoulder at the Alpha, not stopping until he was safely inside the ancient box with the ‘Level’ button firmly pressed.

Derek didn’t chase him, didn’t drag him back and tell him to stop, to stay. He let Stiles go, allowed Stiles to disappear behind the elevator doors and ride it down to the first floor.

Stiles’s chest heaved as he breathed deeply, tried to calm down at least enough to get home without having to stop on the side of the road to cry. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. Weeks of wishing and hoping for Derek to show him some appreciation, of wondering if Derek actually _cared_ about what happened to him, and Stiles had completely wigged out when he finally got it.

_Fuck_ , he thought, knocking his head back against the wall, as if the blow would fix whatever seemed to be broken in his head.

On top of everything, Stiles had gone and agreed to show up to the meetings again, to voluntarily watch Derek and Jennifer and their sickly sweet puppy love that made Stiles want to shove shards of glass into his own eyes whenever he witnessed it.

He really didn’t know what had possessed him to say yes, but it was too late now.

Stiles idly wondered if he could still blame his bad judgment on the alcohol and drugs.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticisms welcome. Follow me on Tumblr at collared-fantasies.tumblr.com. If you want.


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